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Summary
Mother made all her children beautiful.
She had always been vain in that way.
For her first child, she pulled gold from the bellies of bees and pressed it into their skin, stole laughter from rivers and threaded it through the voice of her next. Some were shaped from moss, some she spun from moonlight—some from hemlock, some from bone, and all were kissed awake on the first day of spring with her mouth full of honey.
Not Draco.
When Draco crossed the border of Mother’s garden, he expected the mortal world to be ugly, rotten, and cursed. Instead, he found Harry.